


Fireworks

by the_haven_of_fiction



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Daddy Tom, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 10:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_haven_of_fiction/pseuds/the_haven_of_fiction
Summary: Modern Actor Daddy Tom is on vacation with his family on their first visit to Disneyland.





	Fireworks

The insistent tug on his cargo shorts snapped him out of his concentrated state and his gaze moved from the tablet to the sleepy morning face peering up at him. He hadn’t heard her approaching, as the “feetsies” of her onesie, as she called them, against the carpet of the sitting room in the hotel had muted the usual patter. 

“Ups, Dada,” she implored, her little hands making the sunburst motion and reaching for him.

Her giggles bubbled through the air when he scooped her up as she requested, giving her an extra toss before cuddling her to his chest, the discarded tablet now resting on the small table by his chair.

“Where’s mummy?” asked while inhaling the sweet peach scent that always seemed to cling to her titian curls through the night after she was bathed at bedtime. 

A yawn punctuated her response.

“Wiff Harry. Cleaning teefs.”

It was their first family trip to Disneyland and he’d already been out for a run and showered while his wife Celine and the little ones slept. Having just wrapped on his directorial debut of a modern Shakespeare adaptation for the BBC, he was looking forward to this vacation with such childlike anticipation, Celine had joked that his eagerness was eclipsing that of the children.

“Is my princess ready to go see the castle and Belle?”

She squealed a bit as his scruff tickled around her ear and the soft curls brushed against his face.

“Who Dada want to see? Woody?”

He put on an exaggerated thoughtful expression, bringing up a hand to his face and tapping his chin; but before he could answer, Celine’s voice interrupted their daughter’s giggles.

“Daisy, I told you to get your father to help you with your clothes.”

They both turned to see her standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the sitting room, hands on her hips and an attempt at a half scowl on her face, the smile twitching at the corners of her mouth giving her away. The morning sun was backlighting her, making her appear like some kind of angel. And she was, to him most of all. An angel who accepted him as he was, accepted his life, accepted his foibles and quirks. An angel who supported his career, just as he supported hers.

“Now, Mummy, don’t be impatient. This is going to be a wonderful day. Relax.”

A huff came from her plump raspberry lips, lips that he was suddenly thirsty for. He stood, his daughter still in his arms, and closed the space between them in a few steps.

“You know what, Daisy? Mummy looks like she needs kisses.”

The big blue eyes were wide and she looked over at Celine with a concerned expression on her face.

“Mummy have booboos?”

Tom couldn’t help but giggle when Daisy reached for his wife and began to kiss every part of her face that she felt needed love. He glanced into the main bedroom and saw Harry, dressed and occupied with his drawing pad and favorite pencils. Their son was already displaying the artistic talent that Celine had, along with the calm and quiet aspects of her personality. Daisy was more like her father, very verbal with that never met a stranger quality that seemed to charm everyone who crossed her path. Born a month early and still small for her age, no one was immune to her effervescent nature.

“Tom, we do need to shake a leg,” Celine informed him while Daisy inspected her face for booboos. “Daisy’s appointment is in 45 minutes and you know I hate being late.”

He smiled at her, sneaking in a kiss or two between Daisy’s continued smacks.

“All right, darling, I know. Here, I’ll get her ready in a flash.”

Harry had been every parents’ dream as a firstborn. His son was mild and easygoing, happy to submit to whatever was necessary. Nothing had been a struggle with him and he was quite independent. Tom sometimes felt a little cheated in a strange way, almost as if his son didn’t need him. It was odd at first and he thought perhaps there was something wrong with him, that perhaps he wasn’t good Daddy material. But Celine had assured him that she was the same way as a child and it was simply Harry’s nature. Daisy was entirely different, different in a way that Tom adored. She needed someone to hold her hand through everything, many things were initially met with quivering chin and tear-filled eyes. Celine was patient with her, but Tom had immediately fallen hard for her naturally clingy personality and was elated to be needed in a way that he felt he had missed out on with Harry as she grew out of the diaper stage. 

He was happy to be the one who soothed her, who had the power to bring the sunshine back to her sweet little face when the storm clouds of whatever crisis of the moment would momentarily darken it. He was happy to gently coax her into her jammies whenever Celine’s pronouncement of bedtime caused the waterworks to begin. He was happy to refill her bowl of cereal when their chatter at breakfast caused a slow pace of eating and she insisted that it was too “mooshy” to eat. He learned quickly that her need to be fussed over went hand in glove with a strong desire to please, to the degree that any kind of truly unacceptable behavior could be quickly curtailed by a simple frown of disapproval on his part. That was all it took, all the chastisement necessary. The frown from him would cause her expression to crumple and she would fly at him as almost a kind of reflex, needing instant reassurance of his affection.

He loved to indulge her, to spoil her as much as Celine and his own better judgment would allow. That was why he found himself in a bit of a rush to get her dressed, as they had made an appointment for her to have the Princess treatment with the hair and the dress.

Celine and Harry were standing by the door, jackets and paraphernalia in hand, when he emerged from the bedroom with Daisy.

“All Hiddlestons present and accounted for, Captain?” he enquired of his wife, the nickname inspiring that little irritated sigh that he so loved.

“It’s a good thing you’re cute and make the big bucks, Daddy, or you’d still be a lonely bachelor moping around your house in London,” she dryly informed him, opening the hotel room door and ushering her brood out into the hall.

Less than two hours later, she was sighing again as he took yet another picture of Daisy in her Belle dress and her tiara. She was preening on the short stool in front of the three way mirror, with Tom giving her instructions about how to turn and smile at him.

“One more time, baby girl. That’s right.”

“Tom, I think that’s enough,” she told him, trying to keep her voice from sounding too impatient. “This isn’t a pageant. There are other people waiting.”

“Yes, of course, I know,” spoken almost apologetically while snapping one last photo, “But darling, isn’t she perfect. Look.”

He was flipping through the pictures and beaming so proudly, Celine just shook her head and bent down to pick up Daisy.

“Your daddy is whipped, baby. Nice job.”

Daisy was too busy inspecting the sparkles on the flounces of her yellow ball gown to really notice what her mother was saying, but Tom blushed at her words and turned to collect Harry, who had just finished his latest picture of Buzz Lightyear.

It was a cool, breezy day, warm for late winter even in Southern California and they had a wonderful time. The crowds were smaller due to the season and they were able to get most of the big things done. Harry had loved Pirates of the Caribbean so much, Tom took him back a second time while Celine and Daisy strolled through the shops in New Orleans Square. They played on Tom Sawyer’s Island for nearly an hour, even sitting completely still for a few minutes when Harry insisted on sketching a family portrait at a particular vantage point he felt was too good to pass up. Celine had been teaching him about the long history of portraiture and praised his stick figures as though they were the greatest masterpieces by Rembrandt and Velasquez. 

The sun was setting that evening when a nearly inconsolable Daisy was weeping against Tom’s chest, her two year old heart breaking because they hadn’t seen Belle anywhere in the park. He tried the usual things: cuddles, kisses, her favorite fruit snacks that Celine always kept on hand for her. When Tom wasn’t home, Harry could normally lift her spirits with his silly faces and promises of a new princess drawing for their art wall that Celine had designed in the family room. But nothing was doing the trick, their group effort wasn’t having the desired effect, and he was beginning to feel a little helpless at the intensity of her distress.

“It’s been a big day, Tom. She’s tired and overwhelmed, she’ll be fine,” Celine assured him. She could see that Harry was flagging as well and decided that waiting around for the fireworks wasn’t the best idea. Both kids were disappointed, and Tom knew that Celine was also, as they were her favorite part of the park; but Daisy’s crying had slowed to intermittent hiccupping sobs while they walked down Main Street and headed back to the hotel for the night. Celine patted her back and pushed away a few stray curls, informing her that they would return tomorrow and perhaps her favorite princess would be there.

“Dada knows Mickey. Ask him to meet Belle ‘morrow?” she asked without lifting her head, her voice raspy from the crying.

Tom took the juice box that Celine was handing him and looked at her with no small amount of panic, remembering that he had told Daisy about his voice work for a Disney animated feature years ago, employing a little hyperbole about meeting Mickey. It was done in the effort to distract her on the flight, as she was rather fussy during take off and had been since she was a baby. Celine had, more than once, warned him about his propensity to embellish the tales he told the children, and now he was faced with consequences.

“How are you going to get out of this one, Mr.Hollywood?” she whispered, while Harry took the other offered juice box from her.

Now the tear-stained face was looking up at him as if he had the power to move the earth just for her, waiting for his answer.

“Well, my princess, I will try to contact Mickey and set it up. But it might not work out.”

She seemed oblivious to the element of uncertainty in his tone, only hearing that he would try, and her tears ceased as she snuggled her face into the soft cotton of his shirt. 

“Bestest Dada,” was the contented sighing proclamation, making his heart swell with such praise.

Celine merely raised an eyebrow and said nothing, helping Harry through the turnstile and taking his hand again with Tom following behind them. She was expecting bedtime to be even more drama filled than usual, but Daisy’s exhaustion had the opposite effect. Half asleep as she was by the time they returned to their suite, Tom had her out of her Belle dress and into her pajamas without any trouble and she was conked within minutes, her stuffed Beast clutched in the crook of an arm. Harry was out quickly as well and Tom was checking his email when Celine took the tablet from his hands and straddled him.

“Shouldn’t you be calling your buddy Mickey?”

Her fingers traveled around to the back of his head and played with the curls at his neck.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, her nails lightly scraping across to his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt. “I’ve just sent off a message about it.”

“Good,” whispered as her teeth nipped his earlobe and his grip on her hips tightened. “The prince and princess got a lot of your attention today. Time to focus on your queen now.”

Her lips moved to the sensitive spot right behind his ear, inspiring a low stifled moan from him. He quickly reversed their positions, pressing her into the sofa and running his hands down her calves to remove her shoes.

“I am always hers to command,” murmured between kisses and smiles and teasing back up her legs to her thighs.

She was silent and still for a few moments, then reached up to cup his cheeks. Her eyes held his and she rubbed her open palms against the scruff on his cheeks, wanting to say something, he could tell, but not appearing to find the words.

“I love you, too,” he said for her, knowing that her powers of speech often fled when her heart was full. “Let’s make our own fireworks, shall we, my queen?”

When the show was complete and the last sparks were fading, his arms were wrapped around her and they were drifting off to sleep. He heard the mumbled words into his neck and they brought a smile to his face.

“She’s right. You are the bestest Dada.”


End file.
